Chapter 4: The Sickroom
Hermione and Harry helped ease Ron onto his assigned bed, the bedsprings protesting as Hermione pulled off his shoes before lifting his feet onto the mattress. As Goyle sat down noisily across from them, Hermione sniffed loudly, squared her shoulders, and walked over to pull the flimsy partition forward to cover them from the Slytherin's doleful eyes.
Pulling a chair forward to sit beside Harry, Hermione leaned forward to look at Ron closely as she rested her palm on the crisp sheets near his own. Harry braced his elbows on his knees as he too leaned forward, combing his messy hair out of his eyes with an impatient gesture. Both glanced up as the door to Madam Pomfrey's office door was flung open, revealing that determined lady as she stalked towards them with several bundles in her arms.
"Here," she announced, flinging a hospital robe to them impatiently. "Help him into that, please, while I see to Mr. Goyle's hand."
Next, she stepped over to Goyle's bed, pulling a medi-stool forward with her foot as she placed a basin, towels, and a tin of poultice on the table beside his bed. Taking her seat, she quietly demanded that he give her his injured palm. She looked sharply towards Ron's bed as she heard a muffled argument coming from behind the partition.
"Hermione," Harry said, trying to sound reasonable, "I appreciate your willingness to help, but I am perfectly capable of getting Ron into this hospital robe without your assistance."
"Don't relegate me to St. Mungo's quite yet, Harry—I am fully aware of your capabilities," Hermione huffed. "What I do not understand is why you are being so stubborn about this!"
"Hermione, I hate to be the one to tell you this, since the last bloke who mentioned it to you nearly lost an eye, but you are a girl!" Harry looked back at Ron as he said this, finding no support in his blank stare and bemused smile.
"Harry, that objection is absolutely archaic! Madam Pomfrey is a woman, yet I've never heard either of you object to her helping you in and out of your clothes." Hermione tossed her head as if this settled the debate, and began to unfold and fluff Ron's hospital gown.
Harry literally ripped the gown from her hands as he roared, "We were unconscious at the time, therefore that doesn't count!"
Hermione blinked owlishly in surprise at Harry's violent gesture before her face darkened into a determined scowl.
"At this point, Harry Potter, Ron is basically a vegetable," Hermione rejoined bitterly. "I'd say that is the same thing!"
She swiftly moved to Ron's feet, divesting them of their socks before stuffing them into his shoes. As she moved forward to remove Ron's peaked hat and unbutton his cloak, Harry's hand fell heavily onto her wrist, earning a fresh glare from his seething best friend.
"Hermione, are you mental?" Harry gasped. "Because you seem to be acting like you want to see Ron starkers, or something."
Hermione's face flushed an impossible shade of crimson, the result of her combined mortification and fury, before jerking her hand back from underneath his. Her eyes went first wide with shock and then glittered dangerously as Hermione opened her mouth to put Harry in his place. She was startled from this course of action as Madam Pomfrey pulled the partition aside in a huff of her own.
"Ms. Granger . . . Mr. Potter, I will remind you two that this is a sickroom only this once. I will not have you disturbing the patients with your incessant need to quarrel. Now, what seems to be the problem here?"
Hermione was the first to regain her senses, and replied, "Madam Pomfrey, I am simply trying to help my best friend get dressed so that he may receive proper medical attention. Harry, here, is insisting that my help will break some archaic sense of propriety just because I am a female. I tried to explain that you are also a female, but—"
Madam Pomfrey interrupted her with an impatient wave of her hand. "Ms. Granger, I realize that to us, as old hands at sickroom procedures, Mr. Potter's request does seem outdated."
Hermione cut her eyes at Harry, a triumphant smile gleaming at the corners of her lips.
"However," Madam Pomfrey continued, "You are all now fourth years, and, were Mr. Weasley more responsive, I believe that he would agree with Mr. Potter."
Hermione's proud expression fell along with her eyes as she refused to meet Harry's apologetic gaze. She turned her body slightly away from her two best friends and fought back tears as Madam Pomfrey placed a firm but gentle hand to the small of her back. Pushing her forward, she finished briskly, "Now, as this job only requires one person, I will ask you now to come and assist me with Mr. Goyle while Mr. Potter divests your friend."
Hermione walked away biddably as Madam Pomfrey slid the partition back into place, blocking the view of the boys from the rest of the room. Harry crept forward, helping Ron to remove first one and then the other arm from his robe. He muttered softly, more to himself than to his freckled friend, "Dodged a bullet there, mate." He jumped slightly as Ron's hand fell heavily from his sleeve and onto Harry's shoulder. In a moment of cognizance, he met Harry's gaze and nodded before replying, "You have no idea, mate."
Hermione, during this exchange, was seated beside Goyle on bed number 4, holding a basin of magically self-sanitizing water for Madam Pomfrey. She was the first to see the platinum blonde spying through the crack in the sickroom doors. She stiffened, narrowing her eyes as he stepped more fully into the room.
"Malfoy," She growled.
Madam Pomfrey turned back to greet the new visitor. "Yes?" She queried brusquely, "Can I help you, Mr. Malfoy?"
He sidled up to the bedside, careful not to get too close to Hermione. Gesturing to Goyle, he replied, "I came to see about my friend, of course. How is he since . . . the attack?"
"The attack, Mr. Malfoy, appears to be a small bite, plain and simple." Madam Pomfrey turned back to her patient before continuing. "Ms. Granger here has been more than agreeable in helping me with his care."
"Really," Draco scoffed, "have you checked for rabies or mange yet?"
Returning his glance with a stern glare, Madam Pomfrey continued, "It is a human bite, Mr. Malfoy, no doubt sustained during your earlier skirmish. Now, if you have only come to terrorize my patients with your sarcasm you can leave the same way you came. Do I make myself clear, Mr. Malfoy?"
"—As a vajra crystal, Madam Pomfrey." He returned, his cheeks flushing to a frustrated damask color.
At this point, Harry stepped around the barrier of the partition to address Madame Pomfrey. "Ron is all set, Madam Pomfrey."
"Thank you, Mr. Potter," she replied, standing up and taking the basin from Hermione's hands. "Stay here until I return, Mr. Goyle. When I get back I shall add the poultice and bandage your wound. You, Ms. Granger, are relieved of your duty and may rejoin your friends as long as you can maintain civil tongues between you."
Hermione bowed her head briefly and replied, "Yes, Madam Pomfrey. Thank you." Then she slid from Goyle's bed, inched around Malfoy as if he were contagious, and returned to Harry's side. Before stepping back behind the partition, they shared a look that forgave the other for their previous argument. Offering a quirky half-smile, Harry held the partition back for her to slide through. He paused in following her as Malfoy and Goyle began to make sloppy kissing noises behind his back. Scowling over his shoulder at them, he raised an eyebrow in challenge.
"Well, well, well, Saint Potter. Aren't you the pervy one?" Malfoy taunted. "Do you always come to the sickroom to shag your Mudblood Princess? Or is it only exciting if Weasel-bum can watch?" Goyle chuckled shortly, watching Harry close the distance between them in one fluid motion.
Harry's hands, fisted at his sides, itched to pummel the snide expression off of Malfoy's face, but he refrained with great effort. "Accio bedpan," he murmured in response. Draco ducked as a sloshing pan whizzed past his head. Harry caught it easily, a nasty gleam in his eye. "You're treading on dangerous ground, Malfoy. Now skeeve off before I lose my temper and decorate your hair with the contents of this bedpan."
Wrinkling his nose at the offensive odor wafting from the open bedpan, Draco backed up against bed number 2 and glared at Harry. Goyle reflexively balled up his fists at Harry's threat, but cried out in pain as he split the skin Madam Pomfrey had just reset. Hearing his howl, that lady was not far behind in joining the fray.
"Mr. Potter, put down that bedpan this instance! You have five seconds to remove yourself from this side of the ward before I am forced to ban all visitors. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Harry answered with a sincere, "Yes, Madam Pomfrey," before sliding behind Ron's partition.
Meeting Hermione's derisive glance, he shrugged his shoulders and mouthed, "What?"
Rolling her eyes, Hermione turned back to look at Ron, saying softly, "He isn't worth it, Harry. He's just…a Malfoy."
Nodding solemnly, he replied, "I know."
He sat in the chair beside Hermione and they both glanced above Ron's head at the ward clock. Both swallowed as they realized that the hour was almost upon them.
"Harry," Hermione began anxiously, only to be interrupted by Madam Pomfrey's entrance.
"Alright," Madam Pomfrey began, "Now what seems to be wrong with Mr. Weasley?" She stepped up close to her patient, examining the lavender smoke that spouted from his ears. Gingerly lifting an eyelid, she inspected the acid-green sheen of tears as well, clucking to herself.
"He's been infected with Veritaserum, Madam Pomfrey," Harry answered.
"Morgana's Ambrosia, of course," Madam Pomfrey exclaimed. "Along with a rather potent Cheer Charm, I gather." She watched as Harry and Hermione nodded vigorously. Firming her lips into a small smile, Madam Pomfrey replied, "I have just the thing for it back in my office. Excuse me, please." Looking over to bed number 4 as she walked to her office, she called out: "Mr. Goyle . . . Mr. Malfoy, you are both free to go."
Harry and Hermione listened closely as Malfoy and Goyle shuffled from the room and shut the door with a decided thud. Sharing a small smile, Harry absently ran his hand through his mussed-up hair as he looked at Hermione. He jumped slightly as she spoke.
"So, how are you coming with your research, Harry? Have you been able to come up with a strategy for the second trial yet?"
Blushing slightly, he replied, "No, not yet. But I've solved the egg part."
"That's excellent, Harry!" Hermione enthused. "Is there anything we . . . um, I can help you with?"
Harry grimaced. "No, I'll find something soon, I'm sure."
"Oh, Harry. There are only so many days left before the next challenge. You should be in the library, not here. I'm sorry."
"For what, Hermione? You didn't do anything—this is all Malfoy's fault."
"I know, but Harry . . . I feel like it's my fault too. I could have blocked Neville's Cheer Charm better. I could have kept my mouth shut about this stupid magic-interaction. I could have—"
"You could have what, Hermione? Crippled Malfoy at birth? You did your best. Sometimes bad things happen to good people. You can't blame yourself because you couldn't protect Ron this time. Sometimes it's destiny, or fate, or whatever else you want to call it, holding you back from being the hero. You just can't save everyone, right? So, just—you know—love your friends. Be there for them when you can be. That's more than enough."
"Oh, Harry," she sniffled, giving him a watery smile.
Both jumped as Ron added, "I love you guys. You're mad as snarfflecads, but I love you."
They all shared a brief laugh before Madam Pomfrey returned, reminding them of Ron's condition.